Lancelot had barely wiped off the last drops of water from his hair when the knock interrupted him in his chambers. It was a deliberate rhythm that lacked any urgency, so he didn’t think much of it when opening the door and seeing a young woman dressed in a simple white robe there.

"Lady Seltena awaits you in the family’s high chamber, my lord." The woman bowed, never directly looking at his face.

“The high chamber?” Lancelot asked, thinking back. He had passed by it once, and he thought it was just an old trophy room turned private study above the central dome of the palace. From what he could tell, it was filled with maybe hundreds, if not thousand-year-old banners and heirlooms, put behind glass. “Give me a moment, I just washed up…” He sighed, closing the door on her.

Arriving at the so-called high chamber, he was greeted by silence. Despite summer hotness, the air was refreshing and cool, and at the center of the chamber, a carved, elongated table dominated the room, its legs looking like horses. Upon it lay a miniature battlefield, well detailed with hills, lakes, and forest, along with tiny figurines of cavalry, archers, beasts, and simple siege devices, all arrayed in a well-thought-out formation. Thinking about it, he heard his father mention it… It was an elaborate war game board. He also saw something similar in Krel’s toy emporium, but not one of his tables was this big.

“Princess Seltana,” He said, noticing that she stood at the far end, her hands folded behind her back, while her long white robe fluttered a little as she studied the formations. Although hearing him, she didn’t look up right away, not even when returning his greeting.

"You're late," she said simply, but as far as Lancelot could tell, her voice was without a bite.

"Everyone keeps saying that," he muttered nonetheless, feeling a bit annoyed by it already. “But I was told noon if I recall last night’s arrangements… And it’s not yet noon."

"It’s noon and three minutes," she replied, eyes still on the board, then she finally blinked, turning towards him. "I see you were cleaning yourself… your hair is still wet at one side. I can overlook it then."

"Thanks, I guess?" He mumbled, touching his hair. True enough… it was wet on the right side. However, it was such a faint dampness that he was surprised she noticed it. But it was a sign that this daughter of the Kahn was way too perceptive and way too hung up on details.

“Everything hinges on the fine details.” She explained, as if reading his thoughts, "Father wants us to be his political pawns, and I do agree. We are women of Khulman, born into the bloodline of the God of War, Toobu himself. It is natural that this would be our fate, but even then... I am not going to waste my talents. If I am to marry you, I need to know if our kids would be capable ones or disappointments. Sit, please."

“Damn, you are harsher than my mother when angry…” He grunted but still obeyed, sliding into the chair across from her.

Looking at the field, the board stretched between them as a divide. As he studied the tiny pieces, he realized this was more than just the game. The board had valleys carved in relief, removable bridges, tokens to represent supply wagons, scouts, and even weather conditions with the strength and direction of the wind. It was a battle simulation.

"This is Kharsuun Valley," Seltana explained. "A historical battle two hundred years ago. It was one of our bloodiest skirmishes between us and a rebelling tribe, wanting to kill my ancestors and take over Khulman. Your side is red, as in, you’re the rebel. I'm the blue pieces, the righteous defender, caught in a surprise attack at the opening of your rebellion. Such as, you have more forces... But I have the terrain."

Lancelot leaned forward, tapping a small token after looking over the situation on the table.

"And the goal?"

"This battle was fought to dominate the pass between the rebels’ region and the main steppe. Your goal is to take it over, and you can win by forcing a retreat or causing a surrender. If you lose too many supply units, though, you fail. If I lose my command unit… I fail."

"Sounds complicated."

"It’s war. Of course, it is complicated!" She snorted, hearing his comment, making Lancelot blush.

These types of games were more like for Arthur and Leyla… Or Galahad. Facing the latter was also like cheating… So, whenever anyone tried to play anything similar, he found himself agreeing with Morgan and slinking away to have actual fun. But, Arthur had forced him to play some strategy games with him here and there, so he wasn’t entirely useless at it… or he hoped so. He was still a soldier; he was just not someone who would become a general.

After the start of the game, they played in silence for several turns in a row. Seltana’s moves were swift and well-practiced, and Lancelot had a feeling she was cheating by simply thrusting him into a scenario he had no idea of. She kept cutting off supply lines, setting traps, and positioning scouts in repeated ambushes. After a few setbacks, Lancelot tried and countered as best he could, taking time to read the terrain, second-guessing her intentions, and remembering the principles Leon and Kalash had drilled into him: never assume, always verify, and think five moves ahead.

Yet, Seltana was adapting to his decisions at every turn… causing him to risk it. Midway through the match, Lancelot made a bold flanking maneuver, sending his cavalry up a winding mountain path, targeting what he thought was a weak point. When he began, Seltana raised an eyebrow, breaking the silence.

"Interesting choice."

"It’s a gamble."

"No, it’s a mistake."

Then, she moved a single piece, a so-called hidden unit, springing an ambush he hadn’t seen; its token hid under a terrain piece. Just like that, his flanking maneuver was crippled in one move.

“Ugh…” Lancelot groaned. "Damn."

"We must adapt to an ever-changing battlefield."

“Yeah,” He smiled despite himself. "You sound like my grandfather."

"Then he has some sense."

Without commenting more, their game continued, and the tide turned more than once. Lancelot, despite what he would say, did learn quickly, exploiting overextensions and feinting retreats soon enough. By the end of the match, although he was not close to winning at all… he was still not losing either.

“Interesting tactics…” Seltena studied the board and then looked up at him. "At least you’re better than the others."

"Others?"

"Of course.” She said matter-of-factly, “The would-be husbands my father paraded before you. Don’t think you are the first; he has done this already. Well, the last three… They lost in six turns. One asked me if the red pieces were 'girl units.' I know that most of those were sons of tribes he wanted to humiliate this way, so we openly reject them… but that is nothing but politics."

“…” Lancelot winced, listening to her. "Oof. Am I being humiliated, too?"

"No," she answered after a brief silence, her eyes narrowing a little. “You are not. I think that Father is serious about it this time around."

He held her gaze for a long moment, and Lancelot had to admit that something was intriguing about her. She was calm and aloof but not cruel. Just… honest. Way too honest. She didn’t hold back her words at all.

"I take it this was your idea, not your father’s?"

"Of course." She smiled ever so faintly, “Although as a woman, I can’t be a general… I can be an advisor to a husband who occupies that spot.”

“In our land, you could be one.” Lancelot smiled at her, noticing a flash behind her eyes that she quickly hid away. "So, all in all, how did I do?" He laughed, clapping.

“…” She paused, recollecting herself, and then, with surprise, she extended a hand across the table. "I will be generous, Prince Lancelot. Let’s call it… a draw. For now."

"You’re not what I expected," he said.

"I know." She said without flinching, “And I don’t care what others think.”

As Lancelot left the chamber, he couldn't help but glance back. Seltana had already turned her attention back to the game board, adjusting pieces and considering new variables, going through their game, replaying it in her mind. If Khulman doesn’t utilize her… Maybe Avalon should. But before he could think more about it, his stomach rumbled, making him sigh. It was already afternoon, and he had yet to eat anything. Maybe it was time to find some food…

...

....

......

At first, he thought he had finally found a maid or someone to ask for lunch. He was even led away, but instead of the kitchens, he was guided to a pavilion nestled within an open garden. Seeing no fire, smelling no roasts, or not hearing the sizzling of meat, his stomach was beginning to make itself very clear where it stood about Avalonian dignity. It wanted food, and it wanted it now.

He was starving.

He had already ridden a horse, shot arrows, narrowly avoided being humiliated as an idiot, and now… Now he was seated on a delicately carved chair beneath a pavilion surrounded by trees and thick bushes, facing down the most dangerous thing yet…

Polite society. The bane of his mother’s existence and, by extension, his too. Worst than that… where was the food?!

Instead of maids bringing a proper meal, the third daughter, Tarsine, entered the pavilion with all the grace of a swan. Her elaborate dress was made of fine crimson silk and adorned with dozens of gold embroideries and silver strands that shimmered faintly as she moved. Behind her trailed two younger handmaidens in similar colors, their heads bowed, carrying a carved tray of… well, it was food alright, but not what Lancelot’s stomach really wanted. They were clearly accompanying delicacies for the ancient-looking teapot set that looked more ceremonial than practical.

Lancelot sat still, concentrating on not allowing his stomach to speak. But if that part remained silenced, his eyes were telling enough… He was watching them with the focus of a wolf spotting a juicy deer, only to realize the deer was made out of wood… because it was just a decoy. He didn’t even hear what she said at first as he only saw that they were setting plates between them, putting sweet rice cakes with dried berries on top, followed by salted nuts… And then, there it was. The smell of actual food came from tiny folded pastries filled with minced meat and whatever herbs they may put into them. And a collection of soft bread shaped into knots beside what smelled unmistakably like steamed dumplings… which had to have meat in it.

“…Prince Lancelot,” Tarsine ended her speech with perfect poise, finally bringing him back to reality. “I hope the morning’s previous… engagements did not fatigue you too greatly.”

“Fatigue? No, of course not,” Lancelot replied instinctively. His voice was formal, but his gaze flicked once, then again, always coming back to the food instead of looking at her. “All part of the… diplomatic experience,” he gulped, his mouth already watering.

“Indeed,” she said, reaching to pour from the teapot with very careful and very deliberate movements. “This is the traditional Third-Day Ceremony in our land. It represents hospitality between equals, you see. The placement of the cups and order of servings all carry meaning.”

He nodded… somewhat. The words were entering his head, but so were the smells. Was that… yeeees…. There was actual food hidden between the sweets. Were those steamed pork buns he smelled? Were they still warm? No matter. It was food. It was–

Then she handed him a cup.

It was tea. Playing along, still in control, he drank it slowly, even bowed slightly as she did the same, clearly happy about Lancelot at least having some… decorum and understanding of the ritual.

“Each dish offered here reflects an aspect of Khulmani refinement,” she explained calmly. “To eat out of order may suggest… the lack of nobility. The lack of… refinement.”

“I understand,” Lancelot said, reaching towards the one she indicated at… And then the first pastry touched his tongue.

It was still warm and lightly sweet, with a hint of cinnamon. It melted in his mouth… and it was enough for his stomach to win the battle that was going on within him. The second pastry didn’t even make it to his plate. He reached mid-sentence and popped it into his mouth before Tarsine had completed whatever explanation she was giving about the symbolic weight of pickled plums.

Of course, she paused, stunned, as one of her brows shot to the top of her head in a heartbeat.

“I believe we start from the outermost dish and move clockwise,” she said, gently clearing her throat.

“Mmh.” Lancelot nodded with his cheeks slightly puffed. “Yes. Definitely.” Then he reached for one of the dumplings, ignoring her completely.

By the time she finished pouring the second cup, he had consumed three different types of food—all out of sequence. He didn’t even realize he’d grabbed the fourth one while still chewing like his life depended on it.

Not even when a servant discreetly inhaled in surprise, and Tarsine’s gaze flicked to her… Then back to him.

“You… are hungry,” she declared, and it was not a question at all.

“Of course I am,” he snorted, not even bothering to hide it anymore. “You try hitting ten targets while horseback riding on no food and then use your brain in overdrive without rest!”

“You were given a feast last night.”

“That was twelve hours ago! I am a growing man, okay? I need food. Me food, me happy. Me no food, me oogabooga…” He grunted, hogging the whole plate and wolfing it down, no longer caring, becoming someone who would make Yuri proud.

She looked at him again, in complete shock. For a moment, it seemed like she might admonish him… but then, to everyone’s surprise, she made a small, unamused huff, like a sigh disguised as etiquette, laced with great disappointment.

“I suppose the ceremony will not be continued as it is being devoured in advance,” she murmured.

“I'm sorry, not sorry,” Lancelot paused, but only for a moment. “As a host, you should not neglect your guest’s needs.”

“…Right,” Tarsine muttered, her face remaining neutral. She simply leaned back and watched him eat for a moment. “You are very strange,” she said eventually.

“I get that a lot since yesterday,” Lancelot muttered, wiping his mouth with the wrong cloth. “But look at it from this angle: I am being honest.”

“Too honest,” she noted, sipping. “Though I suppose it is… a thing.”

Eventually, Lancelot finished, leaving no crumbs behind when he sat back, sighing with contentment, while she took a final sip and rose with perfect elegance.

“Thank you,” he said, managing not to belch while looking at her. “That was, per the circumstances, the best meal I’ve had since yesterday.”

Listening, Tarsine looked down at him, tilting her head slightly, visibly thinking about how to answer his words. In the end, she remained neutral, nodding her head.

“You failed the ceremony,” she said calmly.

“I know.”

“You ate like an animal.”

“I really did. And it feeeeeeelt gooooooood!” He chuckled, not really caring.

“I see…” She paused… then added, with that same controlled voice. “At least you appreciated it.”

“I absolutely did.”

With another look, she nodded her greetings and then turned and glided away, leaving Lancelot to sit there surrounded by empty trays, feeling a bit confused again, but it didn’t last long. With a full stomach, he was finally happy… And he felt the last two of the girls were probably not going to be such a pain in the bum.